


Midnight Talks

by platinumtrickster



Series: See You in Another Life [2]
Category: Mother 3
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Claus is Alive, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:55:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25029631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/platinumtrickster/pseuds/platinumtrickster
Summary: Claus can't sleep, and neither can Flint.(Post-Mother 3.  Claus is alive AU.)
Series: See You in Another Life [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1812517
Kudos: 11





	Midnight Talks

Claus lays his head down on the table, squirming in that wooden chair to get comfortable, but he just can’t. Nothing ever feels exactly right when he’s trying to rest. One limb or another feels restless or his insides hurt or his broken eye thinks that this is the best time to malfunction and sting him till he can’t ignore it by sleep or squeezing his eyes shut as hard as possible. Still, he tries that yet again when the needling, burning electric shocks fill that faulty eyesocket of his again. Digging his fingers in his hair with a rough grip, he grits his teeth and squeezes his eyes closed until everything else hurts more than the eye itself.

Eyes watering a little, he opens his eyes with a few blinks, vague shapes forming in the corners of his sight, then disappearing once his sight readjusts to the darkness surrounding him. It’s pitch-black aside from the light of the stars and moons peeking in through the cracks in their window curtains. It’s not enough to see hardly anything in front of him, only the outlines of the wall and door and everything else before him. Claus shifts and runs his hands over his face, rubbing his eyes in a repeated, soft motion until he hears a stirring behind him.

The sound makes him jolt, his spine tingling and Claus tense and anxious, like he’s been caught doing something horrible again. He turns himself ‘round just to see the source of it, and finds Flint getting out of bed. Claus is frozen in his spot, staring over to his father, like he’s hoping Flint will not see him if he doesn’t move a muscle. He wishes so badly to be invisible, but that wish is ignored when his father steps towards the dining table and looms over Claus will that intimidating height, run a tired, lazy hand through Claus’ hair.

“Can’t sleep, huh?” Flint mumbles in his quiet, gravelly voice. Claus slowly shakes his head, still under Flint’s scratchy, calloused hand. “Me either.”

Claus tries to pull himself away from his father’s touch, gentle as it is, and Flint takes the hint then, and withdraws his hand. The elder sighs softly, then leans of the table with one hand, He taps the wooden surface slowly in thought. Claus rises from his chair with a slowness, pushes the chair in, and turns to return to bed, but Flint stops him with more words. “Claus. Come on, let’s sit out together. You know you ain’t gon’ git back t’ sleep.” Dead silence, but Claus shrugs and nods. That’s more than enough confirmation for Flint, and so he doesn’t hesitate to head off towards the front door.

Despite everything, Claus does actually follow suit, and so the two step outside into the night air. It’s warm out, but the breeze in from the sea helps that. Each movement from the ginger is awkward until Flint wanders off to the side of the hill and sits on the grass there. Claus follows suit, sitting a short distance away, just enough to be nearly an arm’s length away. He hates how Flint initiates touch with him when he doesn’t want it, can’t stand it, and too stubborn to admit it, though he was _hoping_ that Flint could figure it out on his own. But he never does. Never does.

Legs dangling over the side of the hill, Claus hugs himself and leans forward slightly, staring down the short cliff straight ahead. He can feel Flint’s eyes burning into him even without reciprocating the look, and refuses to, really. All there is is just this silence, not a comfortable one, either. Claus knows Flint wants to say something, or wants _him_ to say something, but he’s just not in the mood for talking. He hasn’t been for months. So forgive him if he’s silent, but he doesn’t do it to hurt his father’s feelings or anything. He just doesn’t know what to say that matters at all.

Flint’s voice finally breaks through the silence, though barely so because his voice is so low and unsure. “You been havin’ a lotta trouble sleepin’ lately, huh? I can tell. I always hear ya wanderin’ around at night ‘cause I’m up usually, too.” A pause and a sigh. “I dunno what it is that’s keepin’ ya up. Dunno if it’s pain or dreams or… whatever. I’m just worried you got the same kinda sick as me where ya barely sleep even if _nothin’_ is wrong. I’d hate to see you end up like that too… but maybe that ain’t it.” Flint scoots himself closer to Claus. Claus doesn’t move away, but curls into himself more. “Is it… d’you know what it is?”

Claus doesn’t answer verbally, just shrugs and gently shakes his head. He can barely make out the vague shape of Flint out of the corner of his bad eye, but it’s impossible to make out anything distinct. He probably isn’t even seeing Flint out of that eye, just imagining it. Either way, he’s too afraid to find out what Flint looks like in this moment, like it’ll be something really bad if he finds out. All he hears after that is Flint’s soft breathing and another pause of silence that his father undoubtedly wants to end as quickly as possible.

“Hey, Claus…” There it is. “Look at me.” A moment of hesitation leaves an awkward quiet, but Claus eventually does turn his head, reluctantly so, to look at Flint. His face is outlined by moonlight, and Claus swears he sees nothing but sadness in that expression he can hardly make out. It’s enough for him to start looking everywhere _but_ Flint’s face. When he speaks again, Claus manages just enough to drag his eyes to his father.

“Aw, hell, I’m not so good with my words. I… Claus, I pro’ly tell ya all the time, but if you need _anything_ from me…” He’s given this speech so many times before. “Please, _please_ just lemme know. I’ll do anythin’ for you if ya need me to. I just… want you t-to…”

The barely restrained emotion in Flint’s voice is unmistakable, building up to a slight, quiet sob, and it makes Claus cringe internally, because it hurts to hear and hurts to know that he’s the reason for it. There’s a lump forming in his throat to match, such a _pathetic_ response, really. Feeling sorry for himself, like he deserves even that shred of self-pity. The burning sensation of self-hate washes over him suddenly like an empty pit deep inside him that only worsens with each passing moment. He did this. Without him, Flint wouldn’t have to worry all the time.

Dead weight. Useless. And fake, fake, fake… that impostor in Claus’ body that wastes his family’s time. His prosthetic fingers dig in to his flesh arm. Looking at Flint is unbearable again, so he turns his head away. His body shakes, though he doesn’t understand why, but everything his body does betrays how emotional he is down at his core.

“I’m sorry,” Flint mumbles, “I’m upsettin’ you. Hey…” He clears his throat in an attempt to wash away all those excess feeling so he sounds calm again. “C’mere. Can I hug ya?”

Claus brings his legs up from the side of hill and draws his knees to his chest. He shakes his head, fingers gripping his knees tightly till the knuckles on his flesh hand turns pale. “… _Filthy_ ,” comes Claus’ hoarse reply. Flint moves to speak, but he just soldiers on without giving him a chance to interject. “I’m filthy, I- I–” Words catch in his throat there, stuck by the rapidly growing emotion inside himself. Tears are well past welling up in his eyes, and a few start to trickle down his face, blurring the rest of reality away till he can’t even make out Flint crawling towards him.

His bad eye starts to sting and prick his eye socket, far beyond needling to become stabbing till Claus is half-crying, half-clutching that eye in hopes that that’ll somehow dispel the pain. But it doesn’t, and it persists as his sobs mix with groans. Flint’s right hand slowly snakes its way onto his face, wiping stray tears from his face. He gently nudges Claus’ own hand away with a “Let me see…”

When Claus allows it, Flint studies the eye very carefully. He hisses, sucking air through his teeth that makes Claus wonder how bad it looks this time. Something about the way the iris gets projected shifts and changes with time. It’s been slowly getting worse, but Claus won’t be able to check until morning anyways, so he doesn’t even want to know what it looks like now. Honestly, the feeling of Flint’s hand on his face is more of a comfort than he realized… it hardly distracts from the pain, but it’s _comforting_ , reassuring.

Claus’ breaths are shallow and interrupted by hiccuping sobs that are starting to lessen now. His head hurts… crying is stupid. Why’s he even crying again…? The pain made him completely lose his train of thought. He presses his head against Flint’s shoulder, and Flint wraps his arms around Claus tightly, letting one hand run through the ginger’s hair. He buries his face into his father’s neck, gripping his shirt sleeves as he tries to control his breathing. But it’s hard, so hard to do, when everything hurts like it does.

But things don’t have to feel okay all the time. Flint’s bear hug makes every problem feel a little more distant, just barely, but enough for things to feel a little better. God, he’s so tired, too… and the longer he stays in Flint’s the grip, the more exhausted he becomes. They must have been there for an eternity, or maybe it just felt that way, but eventually, without ever meaning to, Claus falls asleep in Flint’s arms, safe and sound.


End file.
